Music

Up & Coming

THE UNAUTHORIZED STRANGER CHRISTMAS PARTY with STARFISH PETTING ZOO, THE CRIPPLES
(Rendezvous) When we say unauthorized, we mean it. This ridiculous party was not organized by Stranger publisher Tim Keck, or anyone else who actually matters around here, but instead by a team of whiny alcoholics on staff who can't handle not having a party that's all blissed out, puked up, stanky, and debauched. (We had a Yankee swap earlier this week, and, apparently for some, Yankee swapping just doesn't cut the mustard.) Two Stranger employees have even gone so far in their ungrateful weaseling and dirty manipulation that their miserable (albeit very talented) bands are actually forming something of a live music "lineup" for the evening. The Cripples will play their new wavy, artsy-fartsy punk rock songs like the spoiled opportunists they are; and Starfish Petting Zoo will play their melodic, guitar-oriented, rock à la Guided by Voices bullshit until they run out of fucking songs. Lots of Stranger staffers will get very drunk and stumble home, and everyone else will wonder what the big fucking deal is. Sound like fun? It's the best thing happening tonight and it's not really our party, so be there. JEFF DeROCHE

PLASTIQ PHANTOM, COMPUTER IMPOSSIBLE, MALAISE
(Crocodile) I love Plastiq Phantom, and the reason is quite simple: Whenever I've overdosed on acts that think electronic music equals a driving techno beat, mildly clever melodic motifs repeated ad nauseam, and volume, volume, VOLUME, this gentleman is a breath of fresh air. He depends on none of these to make his impression, and the result is something even a classical music connoisseur might enjoy. Add the delightful Computer Impossible and you get a sort of genteel, brain-twisting kind of fun. GENEVIEVE WILLIAMS

JUKE, BRIAN & RYAN OF THE A.M. DISASTERS
(OK Hotel) Juke frontman Darren Loucas has no apparent interest in tinkering, toying, or otherwise futzing around with the essential components of classic, guitar-driven rock. The homespun basic recipe works: a solid, pounding rhythm section, bluesy hooks you can sink your canines into, and an unabashed fondness for loud, electrifying solos that often fly off into the realm of manic inspiration. This is pure, unadulterated rock and roll: very American and very satisfying. What makes Juke an exceptional rather than merely accomplished trio of rock stars, though, is the songwriting; Loucas possesses an uncanny feel for what makes a tune work on both the structural and emotional level, and his lyrics are elegant and spare. Juke recently finished recording an album, so now is the perfect time to catch them live and in their stride. RICK LEVIN

ST. BUSHMILL'S CHOIR
(Breakroom) Blending traditional Irish music together with punk is like putting peanut butter inside of chocolate: a once unlikely but now obviously brilliant combination. While it would seem in theory that the sweet, melodic fiddle would never be able share a stage with the angst-ridden electric guitar, such is a beautiful happening, because there seems to be a point where the music of Eire achieves a furious, frenetic pace and a desperation that punk evokes so naturally. St. Bushmill's Choir come fully armed with the tools of both trades: guitar, fiddle, drums, bass, pennywhistle, accordion, banjo, bouzouki, and plenty of defiant vocals--Johnny Rotten in brogue. Their sound floods the ear as every instrument takes center stage together. Their music reaches both those on the floor and those tossing back pints on the barstools. I'm not looking forward to any hybrids of hiphop and country--I'd rather dunk my cookies in bleu cheese dressing--but when it comes to bringing the punk and the Celt together, St. Bushmill's Choir do it as well as anyone. KRIS ADAMS

NO. 13 BABY, JASON TRACHTENBURG, IN COLOR
(Crocodile) For ladies and gentlemen of a certain age, No. 13 Baby (who play Pixies covers) could be nothing less than a potlatch for the end of youth. Back before I learned how hard it is to make a group of drunks do anything in unison, I planned to stage a full a cappella recital of Doolittle, with four instrumental conductors in headphones listening to the record and an open bullhorn for the vocals. Now everyone who would have cooperated is busy with the new baby. This will have to do. Jason Trachtenburg, on the other hand, is the opposite of a revival, the kind of fresh approach our music scene needs. He'll be appearing tonight without the fabulous Slide-Show Players. Some of the best art now is made from the scraps of our pre-existing, overwhelming culture. This show falls under that category, and is anything but frivolous because of it. GRANT COGSWELL

MIGUEL MIGS, DJ RA SOUL, JOAQUIN GARCIA, DAREK MAZZONE
(I-Spy) The club's new Sugar weekly imports a little talent from the city by the bay this Friday: S.F. DJ/producer Miguel Migs, who should keep things appropriately hot, sweet, and sticky. He better, having recently released a booty-licious compilation dubbed Nude Dimensions on a naughty little label called, but of course, Naked Music. His hypnotic Frisco space-house, pumped up with elements of Chicago funk and a plethora of breathy female vocals, should fit eager deep-house lovers like a latex glove. For a little digital relief, check the drum 'n' bass lounge featuring Aki, Bumblebee, and Quasar, or local housedaddy Darrek Mazzone upstairs in Nation. P.S.: It's $12 unless you remember a non-perishable food item for donation to Northwest Harvest--that should shave two bucks off your admission, and a little green mold off your musty conscience. LEAH GREENBLATT

BIG STAR, DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE, ACOUSTIC POSIES
(Showbox) I know, it's silly for a young woman like myself to believe in Santa Claus, but my God, there has to be some sort of holiday magic working, because my Christmas wish has been answered. Together at last--Death Cab for Cutie and the Posies. Now I don't mean to be greedy, because honestly, just seeing the two bands together is a gift in itself. But you must understand, I have been extra good this year, so I have only a few more tiny requests. Ken, Jon, could you please squeeze "Solar Sister" into that delicious acoustic set of yours? When you sing, "I'll close my eyes and listen to you read the story/But I'm already far behind," my heart melts like snow beside the fire. And if you would also find time for "Please Return It," then I would surely go home a happy girl. And Death Cab, don't think you're getting off so easy. A performance of "405" would most definitely make my evening. And playing the amazing "Song for Kelly Huckaby" from your new Forbidden Love EP would make it even better. Small requests, boys, but it's worth it, right? After all, it is the season of giving. Now if only I could get them under the mistletoe. MEGAN SELING

C AVERAGE, SWARMING HORDES, BACCHUS, CRY OF THE BANSHEE
(Breakroom) The Olympian C Average bring their surprisingly big sound to Seattle once again, proving once more that a heavy-metal duet is not only possible but can have pleasing results. There's an album expected in March, but don't wait for it. Get yourself down to the Breakroom for their brilliant, technically astounding live show. Also on the bill are the Swarming Hordes, who might just have the power to make metal cool again all by themselves, and Cry of the Banshee, who presumably take their name from the title of the 1970 film--make of that what you will. GENEVIEVE WILLIAMS

HARVEY DANGER, SUPER DELUXE
(I-Spy) Harvey Danger don't suck! Yes, they have the full, rich sound of a band that has played a lot of shows. Yes, under Sean Nelson's directive their communal pop craftsmanship aspires to some middle point between Revolver and Wowee Zowee. Yes, he wears a suit onstage and sings into a handheld mic like Engelbert Humperdinck, but their new record, King James Version, demands to be played more and more the longer it sits near your stereo. They're even better live, where they can go off the map into a weird rant or a 10-minute Dylan cover. And when they finish, you realize that's adrenaline you feel: You just saw a stadium show in a club, and it was great. GRANT COGSWELL

RADIO NATIONALS, LOWER 48, STEPROCKET
(Crocodile) Radio Nationals play emotive, gorgeous bar-room rock, and they play it really well. They're not country, but they're jangly and American enough to have opened for Buffalo Tom on the Northwest leg of their tour this past month, and their songs are shot through with enough lovelorn, restless desire to inspire some of the slickest, hippest, most fascistic of Seattleites to drink beer, get swept up, and genuinely listen. That's saying a lot. This year's EP, Exit 110, is doing well--six gorgeous songs from a very talented group of locals. If you want some good heartfelt rock and roll, this is the show for you. JEFF DeROCHE

CLASSIC ROCK SUNDAY
(Pacific Science Center) In addition to perpetual hyperbole, we here at The Stranger are also enormous fans of genre-confusion, critical inaccuracies, and all transgressions of any sort or measure. We love the half-formed but downright impassioned opinion, the essential inaccuracy, and the unabashedly dirty fuckin' lie. It's no secret that we use terms loosely here (power pop, punk, art, etc.) and, frankly, we're proud of it. Having said that, we would very much like to congratulate the Pacific Science Center for going absolutely apeshit this Sunday and staging a themed evening of laser shows that is the most genre-bending, vanguard presentation of light and its refractive brilliance we have ever seen. Termed "Classic Rock Sunday," the show features the music of three different bands: Led Zeppelin (an obvious choice), the Beatles (pioneering, mostly pop, totally classic), and, of course, the all-time, quintessential classic fuckin' rockers, DEPECHE MODE! To hell with Jimi, Janis, the Stones, and... the Who? DEPECHE MODE FOUNDED FUCKIN' ROCK man, make no bones about it. And to the Pacific Science Center, our brilliant, beloved sisters in balls-to-the-wall, manic transgression: YOU FUCKIN' ROCK AS WELL. Depeche Mode. That's classic. JEFF DeROCHE

Fun with crayons
Cut and color this picture of Seattle Weekly's erudite "Metro Gnome."

ERNESTINE ANDERSON & THE RICH DANGEL BIG BAND
(Jazz Alley) I know Jazz Alley isn't your usual hangout, but Ernestine Anderson isn't your normal balladeer either. So if you're looking for a swank outing to spend that extra holiday cash on, Ernestine Anderson should be it. You've probably never heard of her--she's not Billie, Dinah, or Ella--but her voice is as smooth as any sultry jazz singer from the genre's heyday. She sets herself apart from other female voices, though, with a deep, succulent tone, rich in flavor and replete with mystique. She also swings with the best of them and is known for her reinventions of the classics from long ago and not so long ago (look for her remake of Cyndi Lauper's "Time after Time"). CHARLES REDELL

MONTY BANKS & THE HIGH ROLLERS
(I-Spy) It's Take Your Grandma to Drink Day! You don't actually have to bring Nana if you don't want to, but she's probably already in town for the holidays, and she'll undoubtedly think Banks' "lounge swing-a-billy" is a real kick in the pants. Twirl her around as Monty and his rip-roarin' Rollers channel the spirit of Frankie and Dino with aplomb, and watch her eyes sparkle behind those steamed-up bifocals as the band dips into a few long-lost Cab Calloway and Big Joe Turner classics. Just be sure to keep her away from those lurking pompadour monkeys snapping their fingers in the corner; Lord knows those guys will go for anything vintage, and Grammy is the real deal. LEAH GREENBLATT

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